


ride until we fall

by handyhunter



Category: Chì bì | Red Cliff (2008)
Genre: Chromatic Character, Chromatic Source, Chromatic Yuletide, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handyhunter/pseuds/handyhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the movie, for glass_icarus' prompt, "they all know theirs could be a temporary alliance," though this is mostly about Sun Shangxiang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ride until we fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glass_icarus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glass_icarus/gifts).



> Title from Bruce Springsteen's 'This Hard Land'.

Shàngxiâng watches her handmaidens practice in the courtyard behind the stables. It’s early in the morning; the sun has barely risen, but they must make the most of the time they have. Soon her brother’s army will be spilling out onto this same open space and spoiling her sword-fighting session. She learned the hard way to pick her battles, and working around her brother and his generals’ schedules is easy enough, if she does not antagonize them and provoke them into making her days more frustrating than they have to be. She’s been a little bored lately, though, and contemplates stirring up a little trouble to make things more interesting.

“You should be married by now,” her brother complains. “Then you wouldn’t be meddling in my affairs.” He means she should not have refused another offer of marriage from Liu Bei because it would solidify their alliance. But she knows her brother and he does not press the matter, if only because it is peaceful still; everyone is too preoccupied with rebuilding from the war against Cao Cao to start fighting again, but it’s only a matter of time before loyalties are tested, and allegiances are broken and new ones formed.

“Gē,” she begins, politely exasperated, but he stops her before she gets much further than ‘brother’.

He’s sending her to Red Cliff, he explains. “Hopefully, Xiao Qiao will have a mellowing effect on you!”

They have alliances there to maintain as well. Zhôu Yú is her brother’s Viceroy, but he keeps his own counsel; he is not the disloyal type and Sûn Quán would like to keep it that way.

*

She arrives with five of her favourite handmaidens and Lu Su, whom her brother has sent as an escort, even though she is well-armed and they are more than capable of fending for themselves. She’s not sure if Lu Su is spying on her or Zhôu Yú. Perhaps on them both.

If her brother meant to send her to Red Cliff to study and be envious of Xiao Qiao in all her marital bliss, it has not worked. Shàngxiâng makes all the appropriate greetings and noises of astonishment and delight when she meets the newborn, some of it even genuine, but in the end, she is relieved to be able to hand him back to his mother and nurse.

“Ping An is a beautiful name,” she says and Xiao Qiao’s face lights up. Shàngxiâng hopes for the baby’s sake that his name is auspicious, despite the soldiers that train daily down below and the new defensive fortifications around the perimeter of the courtyards, as a precaution. Zhôu Yú has no wish to fight, but he worries about who will fill Cao Cao’s place next to the Emperor. They all do.

Lu Su looks perpetually worried, but maybe it’s only that the lines on his face have set that way.

Shàngxiâng also watches Xiao Qiao and Zhôu Yú look at each other when they think no one notices; they have an understanding between them, some sort of deeper affection than Shàngxiâng has seen before; it makes this small place, beautiful as it is, enough for the both of them, but Shàngxiâng thinks the cliff walls grow closer every day and the river’s edge too far. Zhôu Yú does not have her brother’s ambition or desire to prove himself -- he has already done so -- and he is quietly adamant about maintaining peace. In this, he and Xiao Qiao are in complete agreement. Shàngxiâng thinks he will not fight unless he is forced to take up the sword again, nor will he push her brother towards war. She mentions it to Lu Su in passing, knowing he will tell Sûn Quán, along with his own observations.

Not three days after she arrived, Zhûgě Liàng also makes an appearance, as does Luo Yue’s third foal in as many years. He rubs the mare’s head fondly after it is all over and the foal is resting by her side. It has inherited her dark brown coat, unlike Meng Meng’s bright chestnut.

“You did not come for my child’s birth, but you made it in time for the foal.” Zhôu Yú jokingly admonishes Zhûgě Liàng, who merely smiles and asks if they have a name for this one already.

“If it had been born first, Xiao Qiao would have named him Ping An,” says Shàngxiâng, laughing at the foal’s clumsy attempts to stand up. She wonders if her brother knew about Zhûgě Liàng’s visit.

Xiao Qiao smiles at all of them and turns Ping An around to look at the newborn foal. The baby’s chubby hands wave in the air, as if he finds their conversation amusing too.

“Ning Jing,” she says quietly, so as to not disturb the horses. “Her name is Ning Jing.”

*

Xiao Qiao wants peace and children, and for now, she has both. Shàngxiâng wants adventure. Not war -- she’s had more than enough of death and destruction -- but she does not think she is suited to a lifetime of making tea and raising children. Neither is she beautiful the way Xiao Qiao is, long-limbed and graceful. Shàngxiâng is short and sturdy, more suited to climbing onto rooftops and knocking down horses and their wayward masters than captivating men. Her hands are calloused from wielding a sword and bow-and-arrow, and her skin browned by the sun.

“How is Meng Meng?” Shàngxiâng asks. She and Zhûgě Liàng watch Luo Yue and Ning Jing in the small pasture. It’s the foal’s first day outside and she’s testing her long legs as she scampers about under the watchful eye of her dam.

“He is in excellent health. He grows taller every day and is the colour of an orange,” says Zhûgě Liàng. He produces one such fruit from the deep pockets of his robes and hands it to her. He pulls out another orange and grins at her expression.

“Are you always so well prepared?” She digs in a fingernail under the rind and the sharp, sweet scent of citrus fills the air between them.

He bows slightly, peeking at her from under his eyelashes. “Of course.”

“And delicious too,” she says around a mouthful of orange. When they’re done eating, she turns to Zhûgě Liàng and looks him straight in the eye. “Liu Bei sent you here.”

He nods slowly and shifts so he’s facing the river.

“He’s difficult to dissuade.” She drops her orange peels on the ground, scattering them in the long grass stalks. “But I think maybe he’s getting smarter.”

“Why is that?”

“This time, he sent you.” She walks back to the courtyard and leaves him contemplating the currents.

*

The next time they’re alone together, they’re on horseback.

Shàngxiâng and her handmaidens borrow Zhôu Yú’s horses and set out at an easy pace; they have no set destination and only a request from Xiao Qiao to be back in time for the evening meal. Halfway around the river bend, they come across Zhûgě Liàng standing by the water, watching his horse take a long drink. The horse lifts its dripping muzzle and tries to nuzzle him, but he steps back out of reach, laughing. He hears them approach, lifts his hand to his eyes to shade them from the sun as he takes in Shàngxiâng and her ladies.

“Hey! Did you fall off?” Shàngxiâng calls out.

He brushes the non-existent dirt from his ivory coloured garments and spins in a slow circle. He’s spotless and elegant, as always; too clean to have fallen off. “Just waiting,” he says, but does not elaborate on who or for what. Shàngxiâng scans the sky, but there are no pigeons in the air. Zhûgě Liàng leads his horse away from the rocky shore and mounts up with ease. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Just around. The horses have been restless.” She nudges her horse, a steady middle-aged war-veteran, into a brisk trot and Zhûgě Liàng falls into place next to her. Shàngxiâng glances behind her shoulder and nods at Huian; her handmaidens fan out behind them, slowly, and they follow at a discreet distance, far enough behind to give them a little privacy.

“I have to return home in a few days,” says Zhûgě Liàng, when they slow to a walk as the horses climb the slight incline. It’s beautiful here, where the flowers are blooming, covering the charred landscape of a war fought by fire and leaving so many dead in its wake. They can see Zhôu Yú and Xiao Qiao’s home and the stables, framed by the trees and mountains and the river.

“If I could paint, I would paint that,” she answers. It is unlike her to be indirect, and she knows he noticed.

Zhûgě Liàng lifts an eyebrow. “I’ve seen your etchings.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “War plans. Those are not the same thing at all! It’s not artistic to be able to draw lines and numbers. Or maidenly.” This time it’s her turn to lift an eyebrow, challenging rather than inquiring.

“True enough,” he murmurs, but his eyes are laughing at her.

“I can’t imagine any future husband of mine would appreciate my abilities to disguise myself as a man,” she grumbles.

“It’s a useful skill,” he says, ever practical. This quality of his was why she confided her plans to him rather than her brother or Zhôu Yú. “I want to fly,” she’d said, and he’d found a way to turn it to their advantage.

“But not...” She shakes her head, smiling sadly. She thinks of Pit and his friendly, honest face and how he thought of war as nothing more than another round of cuju. She is glad there is no more fighting, and will probably agree to marry Liu Bei if it means he will not break ties with her brother and their people, but she keeps those thoughts to herself. She wants a to be independent a little longer, and Zhûgě Liàng’s first loyalty is to Liu Bei; if his lord finds out about her wavering resolve, he might redouble his efforts to woo her. That thought makes her shudder.

Zhûgě Liàng immediately looks concerned. “Are you cold?”

“No.” She tightens her calves around her horse’s sides and he responds instantly, being both well-trained and impatient to be allowed to run. It takes Zhûgě Liàng nearly a dozen strides to catch up, though neither of them are in a hurry or in a competitive frame of mind. They gallop side by side over the grassy knoll; she sneaks a glance at him, catches his eye and shares a smile.

*

It would be so easy to keep going, keep riding until there’s no where else to go. But they don't.

They turn back when the cool river breeze picks up and the sun starts to go down. Shàngxiâng doesn't give him a chance to bring up Liu Bei again and he doesn't press the matter. If Xiao Qiao and Zhôu Yú notice something amiss about her or the way she and Zhûgě Liàng act around each other, they don't mention it. On his last night there, Zhûgě Liàng plays the qin and Zhôu Yú joins in, as they've done every night, though sometimes it's Zhôu Yú who begins playing first, and sometimes, somehow, they start together, in perfect accord.

She sits close to Xiao Qiao, their shoulders almost brushing, and closes her eyes. The music is beautiful and haunting, never quite the same way twice, even if they play the same song. The final note fades away and she hears the soft swish of robes near her feet.

“Look, Shàngxiâng is asleep. Is our playing so boring?” Zhôu Yú wonders.

Shàngxiâng smiles.

“Ah. Not quite asleep after all,” says Zhûgě Liàng.

She opens her eyes and takes them all in: Xiao Qiao’s serene expression, Zhôu Yú next to her, one hand resting on her shoulder, and Zhûgě Liàng sitting nearby, their faces golden in the dim light. Zhûgě Liàng is watching Xiao Qiao and Zhôu Yú too; his expression remains elusively neutral. She wonders what he sees and what he’s thinking.

*

In the morning, after breakfast and after they’ve said their goodbyes to him, she watches Zhûgě Liàng ride away from Red Cliff until he is only a tiny dot in the distance.

“He’ll be back some day,” says Xiao Qiao, walking up to stand next to her, “and so will you.”

“Are you so sure?”

Xiao Qiao smiles, quiet and determined, and steers her around, away from the window. “Let me make you some tea.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to decline the offer, but Shàngxiâng remembers that this is the woman who faced Cao Cao, altered the course of the war and lived to tell the tale, armed with nothing but a pot of tea. “I would like that,” Shàngxiâng says, and means it.

Later on, she will dream of riding off on many adventures, but for now, she is content to watch Xiao Qiao pour freshly boiled water over the tea leaves.


End file.
